


Express Desires

by KittyNomsDePlume (Extra_Pickles)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:15:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29345739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Extra_Pickles/pseuds/KittyNomsDePlume
Summary: Inquisitor Lavellan and her advisor, Solas, return to Denerim by train, after successfully closing a rift on the Storm Coast. An ardent tension has been brewing between them for months, long before Eludysia received the Maker’s Mark upon her palm. The bestowment of the Anchor has awoken her dormant elf blood; turning her into the very type of criminal - that in service of the Chantry - she works to identify and suppress. A rogue apostate, a Maleficar.Solas has been the sole, calming force amongst the storm of her new-found powers. Rapidly his role has morphed from advisor, to trusted confidante and Dysi longs for more. To irreversibly change the nature of their relationship, into something deeper and more passionate.
Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas, Lavellan & Solas
Comments: 6
Kudos: 11





	Express Desires

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I’m a little time poor this week, so for the [14daysdalovers](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/14daysdalovers) prompts Breathless Kisses and Ask Me To Stay, here is an excerpt from something new I have in the works. A sort of AU Steampunk, gothic romance. At least, that’s what I envision in my head. Hopefully I can pull it off.

Dysi sits primly beside Solas, in his private cabin aboard the Amaranthine Express, steaming toward Denerim. One of his prized spell-books lies open, equally resting across both of their knees. She watches, mesmerised, as his elegant fingers brush over the pages, thumbing through the book to find information relevant to this current lesson. He shifts on the bench, turning his body slightly toward hers, as he addresses her directly.

“As you can see, elemental magic does not vary in the casting,” he explains, his voice taking on an expressive - almost passionate fervour - that is lacking from his more formal manners. “Your own affinities will determine the nature - the flavour - of elemental spells.” Dysi keeps her eyes glued diligently to the book before her, not daring to peek at the expression that undoubtedly lights his handsome face. Speaking of magic and arcane secrets, always drew the carefully contained joy out of the otherwise stern and aloof gentleman.

The slow undulation of the carriage causes their knees to brush together. Dysi raises her hand to her mouth to stifle a little gasp and Solas stops speaking, surveying her pensively. She can feel her cheeks pinking and she pats her mouth apologetically, as though she had been trying to hold back a yawn.

“Excuse me,” she murmurs. Dysi quietly berates herself for letting her mind wander, but it is difficult when he is so close beside her; in the privacy of this little room. Speaking to her as though she is the only person in the whole world. She drops her hand back on top of the other, surreptitiously wringing them together.

“Keep practicing the fundamentals I’ve taught you.” Solas closes the spell-book, setting it aside on the table. Shadows play over his proud demeanour, as their train shunts past a copse of tall trees. “Though I confess, you have displayed an impressive mastery of your new magic.” The rarely given praise, unleashes a fluttering in her stomach. Dysi moves one hand from her lap to her abdomen, willing her nerves to subside. She should not be allowing herself such feelings. What they are doing is dangerous and taboo, and yet - despite the risks - there is a part of herself that revels in such wicked rebellion.

She clears her throat. “I should go,” she announces, rising from the bench seat.

“You should,” Solas concurs. Though he inclines his head in a polite bow, he does not lookat her. Dysi’s heart sinks at the cold distance he is putting between them. Perhaps he is wise to do so. To not tempt further indiscretions. Inevitably, her mind conjures memories; of his body crushed hard against hers, as they hid from Red Lyrium abominations in a dark, grimy alley in Redcliffe. Or how he held her close, soothing her after she first awoke with the Mark on her palm, panicked to the point of hysteria. The scorching heat of his body, passing easily through the thin layer of her borrowed night-gown.

Recalling these moments, Dysi finds she does not want to be so wise. They are already flirting with the forbidden; if she _is_ damned, according to Chantry scripture, why hold back any longer? She is shocked by her own thoughts. It appears, it is a slippery slope into ruin and sin. Once one’s foot is on the path, everything seems permissible.

She hesitates at the door, roiling with inner conflict. “Unless…” she murmurs and presses her forehead against the curtained window of his cabin door. _Leave_ , she urges herself. _Open the door and step through._

“Unless?” he prompts quietly. She turns to look at him and clasps her hands behind her back, hiding her nervous fidgeting. Leaning forward in his seat, he rests an elbow on his knee, as he scours his fingers over his mouth; contemplating her with his piercing, grey eyes.

Dysi drops her gaze to her feet and chews on her lip, the tips of her ears burning from the hungry way his eyes rake over her. She opens her mouth to speak, but her throat is tight; choking off any attempt. _This is reckless_ , she berates herself, _turn and go._ Solas lurches to his feet, reaching her in a single stride. He places a hand on the door and stoops his head to her level. Even then, he still looms over her.

“You _should_ go,” he whispers. In his smooth, low voice, it sounds more like a warning than a suggestion. But that edge to it - that dangerous inflection - makes her shiver. An ache blooms in her chest at the sound of it. His breath caresses the fine strands of her hair, where they fall loose over her forehead, and sends that ache surging toward her belly. The scent of him floods her airways - crisp and masculine. It drives that ache lower still, to pool between her thighs.

He is so close that she can no longer see past him and her eyes trail up his long legs. She crushes her own hands behind her back, fighting the urge to reach out. To run them across his waistcoat and feel the hard body that hides beneath. The glimpse she once had, is burned into her memory; of his shirt open at the neck, providing a tantalising, too limited view of his chest. Instinctively, she looks to his neck now, eyeing the cravat that sits neatly knotted at his collar; wishing the offending article were gone.

Ashamed of such wanton thoughts, Dysi averts her gaze, only for it to land on his bare forearm. Of their own volition, her eyes brazenly follow the veins, and the smattering of freckles, that trail up his arm toward his elbow. Again, she is foiled but the neatly rolled cuff of his sleeve. She nearly mewls aloud, with the urgent desire to worm her fingers underneath and curl them around his bicep. To take hold of both of them and pull him in, closing the agonising inches between them.

“Eludysia,” he breathes her name like a desperate prayer. Bringing his other hand up, he reaches toward her. His fingertips ghost over her lips, in the barest of caresses and Dysi’s lungs seize at the contact. Ever so gently, Solas’ fingers drag slightly on her lower lip, as they curl away from her, forming into a taut fist. He hastily drops it to his side and she realises his entire body is tense; coiled tightly, as though waiting to strike.

“Look at me,” he huskily urges and she does. Her cheeks burn at the heat in his eyes, the terrible yearning expressed there. Layered beneath it is an unfathomable sadness; a grief that tears at her heart and makes her long to soothe it away.

“Please,” she begs breathlessly. She does not even truly understand what she is asking, nor what she wants. All she knows is that he has - he _is_ \- something she desperately needs. Solas studies her silently, his brow furrowing; as though her plea makes him even more grief-stricken.

She physically jumps, at the sudden, loud peal of the train whistle and seconds later they enter a tunnel, the cabin plunging into darkness. Dysi gasps loudly, as his hand returns, molding his palm against the side of her neck. Then his mouth presses hard against her own. She is dizzy at the sudden change, from his soft fingers to his firm, unrelenting kiss. Dysi moans, opening for him; welcoming his ardent intrusion.

Solas’ tongue is warm and demanding, and every swipe of it draws strength from her knees, til she is slumped helplessly against the cabin door. She clings to his shoulders, in a frantic attempt to keep herself upright.

Just as swiftly as they entered, the train emerges from the tunnel and Solas breaks away from her. As though their reckless embrace could only occur under cover of darkness. His fingers flex against her neck and he presses his forehead against hers. For a moment they are silent and still, the rhythmic cadence of the train’s wheels loud in Dysi’s ears; an echo of the hammering beat of her own heart.

“If you do not leave now…” he warns, a tremble in his voice that seems so foreign to Dysi. She has never known Solas to be unnerved; he is always confident and in control.

“Do you want me to stay?” she somehow finds the voice to ask. He hesitates, closing his eyes in a pained grimace.

“Yes.” His confession is little more than a ragged groan and once again, it makes the heat between her legs twinge.

She reaches up, to stroke his face with her hands. His eyes flicker open, watching her, as she slowly caresses him, admiring the sharp slope of his jaw. She mimics his earlier action, sliding her fingers across his lips; appalled by the excited heaving of her chest and the breathy little sighs that fall from her open mouth. She lowers her hands to his neck, deftly loosening the knot at his throat. Impatiently, she pops buttons and pushes the fabric aside, opening his collar. An urgent, needy sound catches in her throat, as she dips trembling fingers beneath the fabric; reverently laying her hands against the top of his chest.

Solas gasps sharply at her touch, and spurred on, she boldly leans forward to place a kiss against his throat. His strong arms encircle her, pulling her off her feet, as he spins her into the middle of his cabin, before carrying her back to the bench. He lays her down upon it, one knee pressing into the plush seat near her thigh, as he curves over her, placing his hands on either side of her head. He holds himself above her, gazing down at her with equal levels of pity and desire.

“I’m sorry,” he says, anguished by some secret he holds deep inside.

“I’m not,” Dysi retorts, boldly grasping his neck and dragging him down on top of her.


End file.
